


elixir

by Authoress



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, M/M, Poor Mikleo Has A Bad Day, YEAH YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS, not that sorey minds particularly, the goddodin elixir scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Mikleo getting half-hard in the middle of the fire trial to realize the nature of that mystery elixir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	elixir

**Author's Note:**

> yeah yeah i know everyone and their mother has written this fic. but i have to contribute porn to every fandom i enter and i'm a sucker for sex pollen/aphrodisiac fics so WHATEVER.

 

Yes, alright, so it wasn’t the smartest move in the world to pop open an unknown potion of some kind and drink it. Mikleo isn’t too proud to admit to himself that he’s made a mistake. He is too proud, however, to let it show to the rest of the party.

Mikleo’s a professional when it comes to this whole adventurer gig. He’s not going to let a little elixir hold up their exploration. They’ve found the Pope, they’re going to find out about the trials, there’s no time for second thoughts or breaks. So he can handle the after effects of…that.

Why the hell did Rose hand it to him, again? She was the resident expert on weird, sketchy, probably illegal people and things. Mikleo couldn’t have told whether it was really an elixir just from looking at it. But from tasting it, yes, he was sure it was a fake. Of course, he hadn’t realized its addictive properties until he had downed the whole thing so really, Rose was responsible for his condition, damn her.

Pope Maseldra is talking. _Pull yourself together, Mikleo._

“The power is brought forth in the spirit, and the spirit captures the powers,” the Pope says. “With balance may malevolence be purified; with imbalance does the body smolder and burn.”

—He’s reciting the ancient inscription. Mikleo blinks and glances at Sorey. Sorey’s eyes are shining. He realizes it, too.

“The ancient inscription!” Sorey exclaims.

“He had it memorized?” Mikleo lets out a low whistle. That was some impressive dedication to the myth of the Shepherd.

“Not bad!” Rose says. “Even if it’s still gibberish to me.”

“What he means is—” Sorey starts.

“—We can obtain four different powers at four different locations if we pass a trial, most likely,” Mikleo cuts Sorey off.

Rose hums thoughtfully and Mikleo can feel Sorey’s eyes boring holes into his head. He’s probably making that stupid boo-boo lip he knows Mikleo is weak to behind his back. Mikleo feels bad about cutting him off, but there’s something about Sorey’s voice that grates against him. Mikleo blames his body’s reaction to whatever the hell was in that fake elixir. He’s completely wired and oversensitive, all his senses thrown into overdrive. Just listening to Sorey talk makes him want to…want to… _something_.

“Got it,” Rose says. “So we have to find the trial locations.”

“Yeah,” Sorey says. “Or...? No, this isn’t one of the places, is it?”

“Indeed it is, Shepherd,” Pope Maseldra says. “This is Igraine, the shrine of the trial of fire.”

“May we enter?” Sorey blurts, overeager. “Uh, I guess it’s kind of awkward to start asking permission now.”

“The trial is dangerous, and I cannot guarantee your survival,” Pope Maseldra says. “Will you still go?”

“Of course,” Sorey says. “Hidden powers in a secret shrine? I’m there! Right, Mikleo?” He glances behind him.

Mikleo rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile.

“Then go forth, young Shepherd,” the Pope says. “Face your trial. This place exists for you.”

“Thank you,” Sorey says. “Ready, everyone?”

Dangerous trial? Facing certain death? Possibly poisoned? Well, Mikleo's odds have been worse before.

Something the Pope said earlier though is sticking with him. ‘With imbalance does the body smolder and burn.’ When Mikleo had drunk the fake elixir, he felt a heat spread from his throat down through his body to his fingers and toes. It hadn’t gone away either, lingering like the heat from coals in a fireplace, heating him until he started sweating. He was _still_ sweating.

It’s not related to Mikleo, of course, that would be ridiculous. It’s just odd to him that the Pope would recite words that resonated so well with Mikleo’s current condition. But he wasn’t ‘imbalanced,’ so the inscription couldn’t possibly affect him in any way. Mikleo shakes the thought from his head and follows Sorey and Rose into the shrine.

“You don’t look so good, Meebo,” Edna says. “Would be a real shame if one of these nasty fire hellions were to gobble you up.”

“Shut up,” Mikleo says. “I’m fine. Just not used to this much heat.”

Edna twirls her umbrella and raises an eyebrow, but accepts the explanation. Sorey, overhearing them, glances back and tilts his head to the side. Mikleo waves off his unspoken question.

“Gross,” Edna says, and stalks ahead of Mikleo.

Pope Maseldra wasn’t wrong—the hellions inside the shrine are strong. On their own, Sorey, Mikleo, Rose, and Edna are fairly strong, but when facing horde after horde, individual strength just isn’t enough. Mikleo gets up close and personal with the salivating maw of a wolf hellion before Sorey calls upon him to armatize.

—They’ve armatized before. Armatization isn’t anything new this far on their journey, and Sorey has known Mikleo’s true name for ages. Relying on each other in battle is second-nature to them at this point, so why does it feel different when Sorey says his name now?

“ _Luzrov Rulay_ ,” Sorey says, and the call of Mikleo’s true name ripples through him, sending goosebumps up and down his arms. He remembers the first time he told Sorey that name. He remembers their camping trip, just the two of them, a tiny fire in front of two sleeping bags, pressed flush against each other. The light of the flames glowed against the carvings in the wall, making them jump and dance in the low light. And pressed shoulder to shoulder against Sorey, no older than ten, Mikleo had whispered his most precious secret to the only human he could ever dream of entrusting it to.

It feels like that night. And Sorey’s voice, shouting it with confidence and possession rather than an awed whisper suits him much better. Mikleo thinks he would happily give himself over to Sorey, over and over again, as long as Sorey will call his name like that just one more time.

When they armatize, Mikleo overwhelms him.

Their resonance is strong. They’ve always clicked easier than the other seraphs have with Sorey. Mikleo guides Sorey less, and Sorey grasps Mikleo’s seraphic artes quicker. But now, Mikleo presses closer to Sorey’s soul than ever before. He hears the scream of their arrows as they let them fly, feels the beating of their heart, meshes his existence with Sorey’s.

_Not enough, it’s not…enough…_

The armatus responds to Mikleo’s pressure by making them faster and stronger, each arrow destroying its target without fail. If Mikleo could just push a little harder, claw his way a little closer, then they could be…

_Mikleo, what? What are you…_

Mikleo releases the pressure as they loose the last arrow. The wolf hellion lets out a long howl and then sinks to the ground, malevolence fading. There’s a ringing in Mikleo’s ears—no, in their ears—and their heart—no, his heart—is racing. Sorey disengages the armatus and Mikleo stumbles from him, almost drunk from the whiplash of being _together_ to _alone_.

“Mikleo!” Sorey’s hands are on his shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay?”

What _had_ happened? Mikleo's entire body aches and his heart is trying to throb out of his chest. He feels weak and empty, throat dry and muscles pained, and god, he’s still sweating so hard… Sorey’s touch is a balm and almost helplessly, Mikleo presses his forehead into Sorey’s shoulder to halt the pounding in his head.

“You’re burning up…” Sorey sounds hurt, as if Mikleo’s pain has somehow insulted him.

“I’m fine,” Mikleo says. “The heat…” He trails off. At this point, he thinks the burning under his skin about matches the heavy hotness of Igraine, so it’s not even a lie.

“Take it easy,” Sorey says. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“Of course you will.” Mikleo laughs breathily. “You always have to be the hero, right?”

“Oi! You two!” Rose calls. “It’s not easy covering your asses while you have a heart-to-heart, y’know! Can it wait until we’re _not_ in the middle of a fire trial?”

“Impossible,” Edna says. “Have you seen how they armatize? They can’t keep their hands off each other.”

_Edna!_ Lailah scolds from inside Sorey. Dezel approximates a snort.

Sorey releases Mikleo and rubs the back of his head, offering up some half-assed excuse and asking if they could stop teasing them about this, really, but Mikleo is stuck thinking about _Sorey_ and _him_ and _can’t keep their hands off each other_.

Mikleo thinks he really would like Sorey’s hands on him, preferably all over him.

It takes Mikleo getting half-hard in the middle of the fire trial to realize the nature of that mystery elixir.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

_An aphrodisiac. An **aphrodisiac**._

It was pretty messed up that Goddodin was thriving off a fake elixir in the first place, but even more messed up that they’d be manufacturing an aphrodisiac along with the fake elixir. What was next? Poison? Bottled malevolence? Maybe a remedy for the aphrodisiac other than suffering in painful silence while your friends enjoy their celebratory dinner?

Mikleo had made do when they were fighting. As long as he focused on single combat with the hellions or directing the artes when they were armatized, he could ignore the way Sorey’s voice dug under his skin and riled him up. He could ignore the aching and the sweating and the hypersensitivity that brought him close to keening whenever Sorey touched him. He could ignore the fact that every single fiber of his body wanted to crawl under or over Sorey and just let go.

(Rose had tried to armatize with him only once during the fire trial. He had snarled at her so fiercely that she blurted out Dezel’s name without thinking and armatized so fast Mikleo could be fooled into thinking she was trying to defend herself against _him_.)

Mikleo had even survived talking with Ekseo and managed to keep a straight face despite the fact he was on the brink of _dying_. But he could not survive the chatter of Rose and Sorey as they exchanged stories about how they whooped the ass of this hellion or that hellion. Besides, Lailah is stealthily stealing glances at his unusual quietness and Edna is outright staring, probably thinking up the most embarrassing way to reveal him to the rest of their party. Dezel already knows. For sure.

Mikleo wishes he could just curl up inside Sorey’s body. Sorey was a warm, familiar vessel. He felt like nostalgia and smelled like the coals of a dying fire and fresh leather. Mikleo wants to be back there, inside of him, and _there_ goes his train of thought.

He stands up, rather abruptly, and steps away from the table. Fortunately, there’s no one in the inn except the sleepy bartender and already-suspicious innkeeper to notice the way conversation dies between Sorey and Rose.

“I’m not feeling well,” Mikleo says, voice strained. “I’m going to take one of the beds for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, no, you can take mine,” Sorey says. He blinks. “Are you sure you don’t want to just come inside me?”

Mikleo could kill him for him wording. He could also kill his dick for becoming very interested in his wording.

“Oh boy,” Edna says. Lailah shushes her.

“That,” Mikleo says, “would not be advisable.”

He moves towards their room without another word, and quick enough that he knows it looks like he’s running away. Rose says in a loud whisper, “You don’t think…” at the same time Dezel says, “It’s the fake elixir.”

Great, so they’ve got him all figured out. Mikleo will just go and jerk off until he dies or gets rid of the effects of the aphrodisiac, whichever comes first. And even if he lives, he’ll probably never be able to look them in the eyes again. It took him a _week_ to be able to make eye contact with Lailah after he and Sorey first slept together.

(Sorey hadn’t seen anything wrong with it aside from having sex brought up in conversation because, well, _Sorey_.)

Mikleo throws the door to their room open and closed, too agitated and consumed by thoughts to lock it. He combs his fingers back through his hair and paces back and forth. He’s just never…up until now he’s always had his own house to deal with this kind of thing when he needed to. Not that seraphs even had much of a sex drive to speak of, but Mikleo hadn’t exactly been raised like a normal seraph in the first place. He was always surrounded by Sorey and his human-ness. Human ideas, human smells, human emotions, human charisma… He hadn’t even really realized what he was doing when he started jerking off to the memory of Sorey saying his name.

Sorey. Geh.

In the present, Mikleo is loosening his shirt. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, choking him with anticipation. The others are so close. He can sense them at this short a range, the same way they’re surely able to sense him and his distress. But even so, even though it’s embarrassing, he can’t bear this feeling anymore.

He tears off his shirt, damp with sweat and blood from the fight. The shirt scratches at his sensitive skin, rubbing him the wrong way and making him itch. He scratches at his arms but the itch is below the surface, unreachable no matter how hard he tries to reach for it. He’s hot and uncomfortable and if he could crawl out of his body, he would.

Half of Mikleo is torn. Being inside Sorey right now would feel so good, away from the unpleasantness of his ill physical form. But if he tried to merge with Sorey’s vessel, he would end up possessing him and armatizing. Mikleo already knows. He had been repressing that hunger all day.

He could…ask Sorey to…no! No, there was no way he could ask Sorey to help him with this. It was too embarrassing. He could deal with it himself, tolerate the group awkwardness and Edna’s jokes for a few days, and then he would be right as rain. Sorey didn’t need to intervene and see Mikleo this pathetic.

Mikleo kicks off his shoes and flops back onto the bed, but even the soft sheets irritate him. Before he has time really to contemplate what he’s doing, he slides his hand into his pants. The sound he makes when he touches himself is so pitiful that he has to bite his fist.

He hasn’t even _done_ anything. All he’s done is brush against himself and he’s leaving teeth marks in his hand. This was going to be awful.

Mikleo pulls his cock from his pants and begins to pump himself slowly. He can’t bear it. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and his fingers shake around himself. He needs to come more than he needs to breathe, but he’s also so sensitive that he’s in pain. It takes one quick pump of his hand and he comes all over his abdomen, but he feels only minimal relief. He’s still hard and aching and he lets out a frustrated sob.

How was he supposed to get through this? He didn’t know how long the effects would last, he couldn’t take care of the problem himself, and he couldn’t ask for help. Mikleo jerks himself off again and comes again, but the release lasts for only minutes before he’s back to suffering.

Sorey opens the door gently and sticks his head in, only to see Mikleo staring back at him, stricken, with wide eyes, a hand around himself, cum on his chest and tears in his eyes. Sorey’s lips part but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes don’t leave Mikleo’s. He eases himself into the room and closes the door with a _click_.

_He always did have impeccable timing._

“Help,” Mikleo chokes out, dignity vanishing. “Help me, Sorey.”

Sorey is at his side in a second, hands out and hovering just over Mikleo’s skin. Mikleo had never noticed just how broad Sorey’s hands are and now that he has, he needs them to be all over his body. But Sorey isn’t interested in anything but making sure Mikleo is alright.

“That elixir,” Sorey says. “What did it do to you?”

“Aphrodisiac,” Mikleo murmurs. “But it’s affected my senses and my artes; when we were fighting—”

Sorey exhales. “So that’s what it was.”

His fingers brush Mikleo’s sides and Mikleo lets out a mewl. Sorey yanks his hands away as if burned.

“ _No_ ,” Mikleo says. He reaches out a hand to take Sorey’s wrist, guiding his palm to rest on Mikleo’s stomach. Mikleo lets out a shuddering sigh at how Sorey’s touch cools his skin and eases the prickling. The callouses of his hand smooth Mikleo’s skin and make him feel like a seraph again and not a ball of aggravated nerves.

Mikleo averts his eyes from Sorey. “I can’t—I tried to, on my own. But it doesn’t work. I need—” He bites his lip. “Sorey, _please_ —”

“I understand,” Sorey says softly. “You need a partner.”

“It’s _wrong_ ,” Mikleo says. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

“I’ll fix you,” Sorey says. “Trust me, Mikleo. I’ll make you better.”

Mikleo needs—

But he doesn’t even need to use telepathy. Sorey climbs on top of him, slides his hands up Mikleo’s sides, his chest, his neck, to his jaw, and then Sorey turns Mikleo’s face to kiss him. He kisses lazily, calming Mikleo’s frantic heart and his desperate attempts to kiss back. Mikleo’s fingers are digging into Sorey’s shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline, but Sorey drags Mikleo into his pace with measured kisses.

He nips at Mikleo’s lips and Mikleo writhes beneath him, needing _more_ than just this, although the aching fades from his body with every new point of connection between him and Sorey. Sorey leans back and Mikleo whines again. This time, he has enough self-control to blush at the sound.

“Give yourself to me,” Sorey says. “Just like your pact. I need you to give yourself to me again.”

“I can’t,” Mikleo whispers. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Sorey says. “That’s why I need you to trust me. Give me control.”

Mikleo shudders. He leans back, relaxing against the bed and baring his throat to Sorey.

(What a hilarious thought, Mikleo denying the request of his Shepherd. He would follow Sorey to the ends of the earth and further. He would die for him without any regrets. Of course he could trust Sorey with something as inconsequential as his body.)

“I love you, you know,” Sorey says.

“Stop it,” Mikleo hisses. “Just help me.”

“You have a beautiful surrender,” Sorey says, and leans in to kiss Mikleo again.

This time, although he is controlled, Sorey is not gentle. Mikleo is pliable under the force of Sorey’s kiss and he follows Sorey’s lead. Sorey nips at his lips until Mikleo parts them, and then Sorey tilts Mikleo’s head so that they can twine their tongues and Sorey can trace the inside of Mikleo’s mouth.

Mikleo loves Sorey’s tongue. He tries not to let it show, but the thought is always dancing across their telepathy. He loves the way it feels to kiss Sorey. And with Sorey guiding his every move, Mikleo lets Sorey lick his way into his mouth and have his way with him. Mikleo runs his teeth across Sorey’s tongue just to feel it and Sorey sucks at his top bottom lip in return. Sorey’s teeth scrape at Mikleo’s chin, a nip that sends shivers down Mikleo’s spine, and then, Sorey is mouthing at his neck.

Mikleo moves beneath Sorey again when Sorey bites him, just hard enough to leave a mark. It sends sparks of pleasure down to Mikleo’s groin and he bucks his hips.

“Hush,” Sorey commands. “I’m in control, remember?”

Mikleo stops squirming, but he trembles, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as Sorey marks up his neck. Mikleo can feel Sorey nosing just beneath his chin, mouthing at Mikleo’s pulse point. He sucks at the skin there and Mikleo exhales in a shaky burst. Sorey has one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his hip, holding him steady. Mikleo feels simultaneously grounded and floating away at the feel of Sorey’s mouth on him.

Sorey moves down to his chest, Mikleo’s hands falling into his hair. He grasps at the strands to steady himself under the sheen of sweat and prickling skin. Sorey rests his chin over Mikleo’s sternum and smiles at him. Mikleo knows what that smile means.

“No,” he says. “No, Sorey, don’t—”

Sorey takes a nipple in his mouth anyway, rolling his tongue over the nub and grazing his teeth against it. Mikleo arches against him and is held down by Sorey’s grip. He lets out a half-sob as his cock throbs weakly with need.

“ _Tease_ ,” Mikleo hisses. “Can’t you see I’m suffering? Can’t you see I need you to—”

Mikleo cuts off because Sorey moves down his body and takes him in his mouth. Instead, he cries out and curls forward, Sorey letting him go to clutch at his hips as he goes down on him. Mikleo digs his nails into Sorey’s scalp, holding on for dear life. His entire frame shakes at how close he is to orgasm already, even with just a few seconds of Sorey’s mouth around him.

“Sorey—!” Mikleo wails. “I’m going to—!”

Sorey pulls back to suck at the head and Mikleo comes in a few arching spasms. Sorey swallows it all and pulls away from Mikleo with his tongue poking out and a line of spit-cum attached from lip to cock. Mikleo’s still trembling, face hot, but the rest of skin feels normal again, no longer prickling.

Sorey wraps a hand around Mikleo’s length and gives him a few strong, tight pumps until Mikleo gasps and paws at him to stop, a few thin lines of cum landing on Sorey’s cheek and chin. Mikleo can feel his body cooling off, his cock finally falling limp.

Sorey grins up at him. “Better?” he asks.

Mikleo wants to tell him what a fool he looks like, cum on his face and a smile brighter than the sun over Elysia’s mountainside. Mikleo wants to tell him how obscene it looks to have Sorey leaning against his inner thigh after sucking him off and _swallowing_. Mikleo wants to curl up with Sorey and hibernate for a couple hundred years.

“You…” Mikleo says. “You’re too damn much.”

“Too much for that aphrodisiac, apparently,” Sorey says cheerfully. “It’s too bad you drank it by mistake at such an inconvenient time. That could have been fun under different circumstances.”

“ _You_ drink it next time,” Mikleo says, scowling.

“Only if you promise to take care of me,” Sorey says. His eyes twinkle.

“That’s dirty,” Mikleo says. “Bad Sorey. Pervert Shepherd.”

Sorey laughs, thumbs stroking Mikleo’s hips and still looking up at him in that endearing, ‘did I do a good job?’ way of his.

Mikleo exhales. “C’mere,” he says. “I think the aphrodisiac is having some last-minute effects on me. I feel the sudden urge to kiss you.”

“Oh, really?” Sorey says. “It’s just the elixir, that’s all there is to it?”

“Yes,” Mikleo says, cupping Sorey’s jaw. “Nothing more.”

“I think you’re lying,” Sorey says as he leans in to kiss Mikleo again.

 


End file.
